Honestly
by Tairona
Summary: Ch. 4 up! [postCitA] In which Mari and Neil fight, which forces Howl to be honest with Megan about his wizardry, which causes Megan to do something unspeakable. Which is the least of everyone's worries, because stranger things are happening now ...
1. Which is rife with wrangling

**Honestly**

_**Chapter One: **Which is rife with wrangling_

**Characters this chapter: **Howl, Sophie, Morgan, Mari, Megan

**Disclaimer: **Everything to do with Howl's Moving Castle belongs to Diana Wynne Jones ... I'm just a rabid fan who is possibly destroying her beautiful work of art by writing stories based off of it. ;p

* * *

"Sophie, I must have your opinion on the matter. Blonde? Or black?"

Howl stood at one side of the bed, mauve sleeves trailing across the patchwork coverlet as he leaned over Morgan. He tickled his son's chin while pulling a goofy face. In return, Morgan gurgled irritably, thrashing at the air with all four limbs.

"Howl, for the hundredth time, we are NOT dyeing Morgan's hair. And that is final!" Sophie shot Howl her sharpest and crankiest glare, only to find that he wasn't even looking at her.

"Sophie, just because you carried him around in your womb for nine months does not mean that you have the right to subject him to a life of suffering," Howl proclaimed as he grabbed Morgan's waving hands and began to dance them back and forth.

"I'm hardly subjecting him to a life of suffering," Sophie snorted. "At the very least, I'm only subjecting him to a few years of being a brunette. If he's unfortunate enough to inherit your vanity, then he can dye his hair himself when he's older. But _we_ are not doing it to him ourselves. Understood?"

"Women," Howl shook his head at his son. "They're always asking us to understand them. But do they even try to understand us? Can they even fathom the pain—"

"Howl, he's too young!" Sophie shouted as loud as she could, in order to fully interrupt his theatrics.

"A man is never too young to learn about women," Howl said as he released Morgan's hands and began to play with his toes. Morgan frowned at this new development.

"I wasn't talking about that," snapped Sophie. "I was talking about his hair—he's too young to have his hair dyed. He's just a baby!"

"Sophie, if we're to instill good habits in our children, we have to start early."

"Unnatural habits is more like it," Sophie retorted, crossing her arms and turning away from Howl to stare severely out of the window.

In the week since they had recovered the castle from the djinn, they had rapidly stumbled upon a dozen new subjects to argue about, all of which were related to Morgan. Howl wanted to take Morgan to get a check-up at a hospital in Wales; Sophie thought that hospitals in Howl's world were frightening and barbaric. Howl felt that they should go visit Megan so that she could meet her nephew; Sophie hoped to avoid Megan for the next twenty years, lest she get anymore condescending advice on how to be a good mother. Howl wanted to buy Morgan an expensive wardrobe; Sophie didn't understand why she couldn't sew his baby clothes herself. And that was just the tip of the iceberg.

Strangely enough though (or perhaps, considering Howl's track record with hair, it wasn't so strange at all) the issue of Morgan's hair color was what they quarreled about the most. In the end, Howl gave Morgan a magical check-up himself, he agreed that Megan should be avoided until Sophie was at least comfortable holding her own child, and, with a hint of a smile, he admitted that the clothes Sophie made did have a certain … charm to them. But he would not budge when it came to Morgan's hair. Sometimes it seemed like it was the only thing they ever talked about, and Sophie was being pushed to the brink of explosion.

"He goes to all this trouble to hide his natural hair color, and now he has to look at it every day. What luck!" Calcifer had crackled to her at one point, green eyebrows flickering with amusement.

"What luck indeed," Sophie muttered now as she glowered at the Parry backyard. "Maybe I'll just shave Morgan's head."

Fortunately, Morgan picked that moment to burst forth with a high, keening wail, preventing Howl from hearing Sophie's appalling suggestion.

"My word, you do have strong vocal chords, don't you," Howl observed, as if this was the first time Morgan had ever screamed. He scooped Morgan up in his arms, and made his way over to Sophie.

Sophie sighed. "Howl, you know he doesn't like to have his feet played with."

"That's preposterous! Utter nonsense! It's all this talk of sticking him with dirt-colored hair that's riled him," Howl fixed Sophie with an accusing look, but the corners of his lips twitched upwards ever so slightly.

Sophie stroked Morgan's head in an attempt to soothe him, running her fingers through the shock of brown fluff that had become the source of such contention. Sophie rather liked his hair color—it made her think of a rich, creamy chocolate. Of course, when she had told Howl this, he had remarked that the only thing worse than having mud-colored hair was having food-colored hair.

"Here, why don't you hold him," Howl slid Morgan into Sophie's reluctant arms.

Sophie frowned as she took her baby, and began to awkwardly rock him back and forth. Morgan bawled even louder. She had to resist the urge to hand him back over to Howl. But after a few seconds, he began to quiet down. Sophie held her breath as he opened his mouth impossibly wide—but this time, no yell was uttered. This time, he only yawned.

"Tired of making noise?" Sophie asked her son with a laugh. Morgan responded with a kind of squeak, and stared up into her face with darting blue eyes.

"See, you're perfectly fine with him," commented Howl. Sophie smiled, and Howl laid a hand on her arm. "I don't understand why you get so nervous."

"I'm always so worried that I'll upset him or hurt him," she said.

"You certainly don't show _me_ that kind of consideration," Howl remarked in a wounded tone of voice, with an equally wounded look clouding his bright green eyes.

Sophie realized that she was in imminent danger of being forced to hear yet another one of Howl's tragic soliloquies. On any other day, she would have simply argued her way out of it, but the never ending debate over Morgan's hair color had considerably dampened her enthusiasm for fighting. Fortunately, she hadn't spent all this time living with a professional slitherer-outer without learning a thing or two herself. She quickly cast about for a possible source of diversion. Making Morgan cry again was absolutely out of the question. And it would be far too noticeable if she bewitched Howl's suit into wrinkling. Of course, she would want him to notice the wrinkling part—just not the part where_ she_ created the wrinkles. Drat. It was times like these when she regretted the fact that she had never learned how to cast a spell without speaking.

"And she doesn't even try to deny it!" exclaimed Howl to the room at large when Sophie failed to reply to his earlier accusation.

Sophie's hopes of diverting Howl's self-pity were fading fast, when a flurry of movement in the Parry backyard caught her eye. Sophie moved closer to the window in order to get a better view—perhaps this would provide her escape ticket. But what she saw quickly drove away all thoughts of her present predicament.

The movement in the backyard had come from Mari. She seemed to have run out of Megan's house and was now standing by the swing set, her eyes lifted upwards in a pitiful, forlorn sort of way that would have put Howl's best melodramatics to shame. She was gazing in the direction of the castle window, and in her arms she held a bizarre spherical object. From what Sophie could see, it seemed to be a rough golden-brown ball with a spray of green spikes shooting out of its top. Sophie wondered if it might be something magical.

By now, Howl had launched into a full-fledged lamentation which detailed the excruciating woe of loving a woman who cared so little for him that she _wouldn't even listen to him. _And indeed, Sophie was not listening to him anymore. Her mind was now caught up with thoughts of Mari. She was suddenly feeling quite guilty over the fact that she had convinced Howl not to go back to Wales just yet. As much as she wanted to avoid Megan, she realized that a visit to Mari was long overdue.

"Sophie, what on earth is so fascinating out there?" Howl inquired crossly. "Did Gareth add something to the garden? A man-eating marigold perhaps?"

He was sounding dangerously close to green-slime, having been forced to abandon his melancholy performance due to his audience's complete lack of interest.

"Oh yes, there's one right there … and look! It seems to have bitten his head off!" Sophie joked in an attempt to lighten Howl's mood.

Howl crossed his arms sulkily. He was not to be cheered up so easily. Sophie, however, was not going to waste anymore time catering to the needs of her husband's overly demanding ego. Green slime be damned. There were more pressing issues at hand.

"If you must know, I was looking at Mari," said Sophie. "She seems rather upset, and she's holding something very strange. I think she might have accidentally caused some trouble with her magic again."

Howl raised his eyebrows with interest, but he made no move to look at the scene in the garden.

"Some trouble?" he asked. "That's certainly an understated way of saying that she's charmed a plant into eating her own father."

"Howl, I'm not kidding!" Sophie's voice crescendoed towards a shout, making Morgan gurgle unhappily.

"You mean to say a flower really _did _devour Gareth?" Howl clutched at his chest with feigned surprise.

"No, you—" Sophie realized that, for Morgan's sake, she could no longer raise her voice to such damaging decibel levels. However, she did have an alternate plan for venting her frustration towards Howl. This plan involved calling him every foul word that she had ever heard from Martha and Lettie _and _Michael, a plan that she proceeded to carry out with such vigour that Howl leaned backwards ever so slightly, as though he was being battered by a stiff wind. She ended the whole production with a few Welsh insults that she had picked up over the years—the icing on top of a particularly venomous cake.

"Dear Sophie, I don't believe that kind of language is appropriate for children's ears," Howl glanced meaningfully at Morgan while smoothing his jacket and hair. With some satisfaction, Sophie noted that she _had _managed to wrinkle his suit after all. With more irritation, she noted that an amused twinkle flashed in his eyes. Typical. Of course he had to cheer up now that her actual intention was to get under his skin.

"Howl, just look outside," Sophie spat through gritted teeth.

"Anything for you, my queen," Howl gave the last word a rather sardonic emphasis before stepping up to the window.

Mari was still in her backyard, hugging the golden-brown ball tight against her stomach. She was restlessly pacing back and forth, threading her way around arches of pink bleeding hearts and patches of buttery daffodils and squares of brown earth where the seeds for summer flora had been sown. She alternately glanced up at the castle window, then over the top of the garden fence, then anxiously back at the Parry house. At one point, she briefly sat down on one of the swings, golden-brown ball in her lap, feet dangling listlessly. Finally, she jumped up with a decisive spring, and made her way towards the fence. She was just starting to scramble over it when Megan came into view, arms waving wildly with maternal anger.

"It's as I suspected," Howl turned to his wife, his face grave and pensive.

"What?" Sophie looked at him expectantly.

"Sophie, I must remind you that Mari doesn't need to use magic in order to cause trouble," said Howl, his expression still serious. When Sophie only frowned quizzically, Howl broke into a smile. "It's nothing! Or at least nothing magical. Stop worrying. I daresay all she did was to pull a prank while Megan was putting away the groceries."

"Stop worrying, he says. How can I stop worrying when you make every situation seem like the end of the world?" Sophie made sure Morgan was securely balanced in one arm before raising her other hand to give Howl a playful shove. As she pulled her hand back, he caught it firmly in his own, and drew her forcefully towards him. Sophie gasped.

"Sophie, you know I forbade Mari to use magic when she's in Wales," Howl continued conversationally.

"What I know is that you gave her that little speech for _my _benefit, not hers," Sophie said in an equally conversational tone. She could see all the details of the wizard's eyes—his pupils contracting and widening, adjusting ever so slightly with the light—the dark green ridges and pale green valleys in his irises—her own reflection, staring back at her.

"Are you saying I'm irresponsible?" Howl murmured.

"You _are _irresponsible, but that isn't my point this time," Sophie told him, feeling a bit light-headed from the strong scent of roses that was flooding over her.

"Then what is your point?" asked Howl.

"I would get to it, if you would only …" Sophie trailed off as Howl threaded a lock of her strawberry-blonde hair between the fingers of his free hand. He tucked it behind her ear, then began to delicately trace the outline of her face. Sophie shivered as his fingertips slid lower, playing along the curve of her neck. She vaguely wondered why she never thought of this tactic when she was trying to avoid Howl's dramatic meltdowns. She would have dropped the subject of Mari altogether, had Morgan not begun to fuss, distressed that he had lost the attention of both of his parents.

"Howl, I don't believe this kind of behavior is appropriate for children's eyes," Sophie said. Howl seemed tempted to continue regardless, but another distraught cry from Morgan quickly put an end to his plans. He released Sophie's hand with a defeated sigh. A moment later he found himself with a very fussy baby in his arms. Sophie felt that this was the best way to prevent him from … interrupting her again. Not only that, but she was not yet feeling up to the task of having to calm Morgan while simultaneously trying to pin down Howl.

"Getting back to my point," Sophie said, hands on hips. "You're too proud of Mari to properly discipline her. I know that you're happy that someone else in your family back home finally shares your gift for magic, but it's blinded you. So far she's only done little things, but if you continue to let her play around unsupervised, it's only a matter of time before she creates a real mess."

"Well, I suppose you do speak from experience," Howl smirked at his wife. Sophie glared fiercely, but chose not to explore that particular subject line any further.

"Honestly, though—" Howl began, only to be interrupted with a snort from Sophie. He tried again. "_Honestly, _after all this time, you must still think I don't know my business. Mari is harmless. She hasn't learned enough to be able to cause any real trouble. And I assure you that I won't teach her anything that will allow her to do so until she's matured quite a bit more. The worst she can do now is to cast a rather convincing glamour that makes it look like she's actually eaten all of her vegetables at dinner. So there. Satisfied?"

"Why don't we visit her, just to make sure nothing happened while we were gone," Sophie suggested, the look on her face making it clear that she was not satisfied. "Besides, I'm sure the poor girl is worried sick about us. She probably tried to visit the castle, only to find that nothing was here because the djinn had taken it."

Howl raised his eyebrows. He was suddenly looking quite smug.

"If I recall correctly, Mrs. Jenkins, I do believe that I proposed a visit to Wales after we recovered the castle. And, if my memory still serves me, I believe that you were against it—no, no, you were _violently _against it—no, wait, you were fervently, violently—"

"Oh, will you get on with it?" Sophie snapped. Howl, however, did not get on with it. He simply fixed his wife with an innocent, expectant gaze, much like a wide-eyed little boy waiting for a parent to give him a cookie. Sophie looked from her husband to the baby he held in his arms. She suddenly had a very good idea of what she was going to be dealing with over the next few years. And perhaps it was this vision of the future that made her determined not to relent.

"You know, if you had really wanted to go home that badly, you should have worked harder to convince me to come!" Sophie objected. It was a weak argument, though, and Howl knew it. He continued to stare at her, green eyes wide and hopeful.

"Oh fine," Sophie grumbled. "I was wrong. We should have visited Wales sooner. Is that what you wanted to hear? Can we go now?"

Howl did not answer Sophie directly. Instead, he allowed his eyes to linger on his wife, the expression on his face having become entirely too satisfied for her liking. For a brief moment, Sophie tried to convince herself that he was simply happy to be seeing his family again. But realistically, she knew that he was gloating over the fact that he had pinned her down into openly admitting defeat. Really, that man … and here she had been trying to pin _him _down. Sophie returned Howl's smug gaze with an icy stare that finally forced him to look at Morgan, whose blue eyes were currently much friendlier than his mother's. This made Sophie feel a bit better. She might have lost the verbal battle, but at least she triumphed in the staring contest.

"Did you hear that, Morgan?" Howl asked his son, turning his back on Sophie's persistent, searing gaze. "We're off to see your evil Aunt Megan. Now don't be afraid. Her bark is usually much worse than her bite … usually … actually, maybe you should be afraid …"

While Howl chattered away at Morgan, Sophie sighed heavily and peered out of the window one more time. Megan and Mari had vanished into the house, leaving the backyard empty. Now that Sophie thought about it, she felt rather silly for thinking that Mari'sbizarre golden-brown ball was magical. She knew that Howl's world was full of strange things that had nothing to do with magic. Even so, her stomach still fluttered nervously at the thought of it. There was just something about the look in Mari's eyes, in the way she had held that ball, almost desperately …

"Howl?"

"Yes?" Howl cut off in the middle of explaining to Morgan that the best way of dealing with Gareth was to ignore him, and turned around to face his wife again.

"What _was _that thing that Mari was holding, anyway?"

* * *

**Author's note: **If anyone is sick of reading fics that involve problems with hair dye, my apologies. I couldn't help myself. :) But don't worry, it won't be a major issue for the rest of the story ... hehe ... I just seem to have this thing for starting stories with random conversations.

Anyway, I know that it was never written in HMC or in CitA that Mari has magical powers. But I figure it's a possibility. My theory for how this fits in with the books is that in HMC she's really too young for anyone to know, and since CitA is written from Abdullah's point of view, there was no reason for it to ever be mentioned there.

Also, this is probably going to become a Chrestomanci crossover in the later chapters (if I ever get there ... hehe ...).

And last but not least, this story was inspired by a Sabrina the Teenage Witch episode (which is completely irrelevant, but if you're really into Sabrina the Teenage Witch, you'll probably see the connection by thethird chapter ... or, maybe not ...)


	2. In which Neil is sent to a small Hawaii

_**Chapter Two: **In which Neil gets sent to a place that is small and smells like Hawaii_

**Characters this chapter: **Mari, Neil

**Disclaimer: **Again, everything belongs to DWJ, except for the chapter title, which is nearly a direct quote from _Sabrina the Teenage Witch_... hehe ...

* * *

_One hour ago, back in Wales …_

To the untrained eye, Mari Parry looked like a studious, well-behaved young lady. The average person would have opened her bedroom door on this particular Saturday afternoon, and seen a little girl sitting at a desk by a window, dark hair hanging into her face as she poured over a large textbook.

To the un-magical eye, Mari also appeared to be neat and tidy, as evidenced by the immaculate state of her room. Megan would have said that it did her credit. The pink carpet was curiously bereft of toys or any other kind of juvenile chaos. Mari's dolls and stuffed animals were lined up in neat rows on the shelves of her bookcase. And the bed was made to military standards, the "Sleeping Beauty" sheets pulled so tight that a First Sergeant could have happily bounced a quarter off of them.

Now, someone with the gift of witch sight would have seen an entirely different version of Mari's room. And although Neil was not this someone, eight years of living with his sister had provided him with enough experience to know that something was amiss when he entered her bedroom. Frowning, he pushed her door open wide. The hinges squeaked like rusty pulleys, and Mari jumped in her seat.

"Don't you ever knock?" Mari glared at him, her ice blue eyes channeling all the ferocity that she could muster. The resulting expression was more cute than fierce, but it bore enough resemblance to Megan's glare that it caused Neil's stomach to churn uncomfortably. Neil scowled at her, and knocked on her already open door.

"That doesn't count, you muppet," Mari sighed, and closed her book. "What do you want?"

"Don't you talk to me like that, twerp," Neil grumbled. "Show some respect to your elders."

"I will when I see one," Mari quipped. "And don't call me 'twerp,' jerk. Mam won't be happy when she hears about you calling me names."

"As if you're such an angel," Neil deadpanned, shuffling into the middle of the unnaturally clean room. Something soft squished beneath his foot. Looking down, he found a stuffed dolphin lying where there had been nothing but pink carpet a moment before.

"Pimple-face!" Mari shouted before he had time to think about the dolphin.

"Brat," he retorted.

"Sock-breath."

"Twit."

"_Ci_!"

Half of Neil wanted to call Mari something truly dirty, but the other half of him (in a voice that sounded suspiciously like his mother's) was urging him to "act his age." So he drew himself up out of his customary slouch, and quickly reminded himself that, at the age of fifteen, he was above this childish bickering.

"All right, cut it out now, Mari," he scolded, doing the best imitation of his father that he could manage. His voice cracked on the word "now," which ruined it a bit. "I was just come to tell you that I'm going across the street to Dewey's for a minute. I'll be right back, so don't cause any trouble while I'm away."

"Some baby-sitter you are," Mari muttered. "Mam and Tad would _never _leave me in the house alone."

"Are you scared, Mari?" Neil teased, tossing the dolphin onto her bed (its mysterious appearance having been temporarily forgotten). He didn't notice that, as the dolphin landed against the neat stack of pillows at the head of the bed, the pillows abruptly rearranged themselves into a messy pile. "Would you rather I stay in your room with you? Want me to hold your hand, maybe?"

"Wait, don't—"

Mari tried to stop it from happening, but it was too late: Neil had sat down upon her bed. The "Sleeping Beauty" comforter, which had previously been draped over the bed with such precision, was now bunched haphazardly on the floor. The bed sheets were in turmoil—wrinkled, and littered with candy wrappers, and pulled up in places so that the bare mattress was showing. Megan would have blown a gasket. Neil simply frowned, his thick eyebrows knifing downwards in a "V," and pulled something hard out from beneath himself—a half-dressed Barbie doll that was missing an arm.

"What the …?" he scowled at the Barbie, holding her up so that she dangled from between his fingers by her one remaining arm.

Inwardly, Mari sighed. The next time she went to her Uncle Howell's castle—if she was ever able to get to his castle again—she was going to have to ask him if there were any proper spells for instantly cleaning one's room. (On second thought, she would ask Aunt Sophie. Uncle Howell's notions of cleanliness ran a little too close to her own to be of any help.) Creating the visual illusion of a clean room was all well and good, but only until certain nosy family members came in and destroyed the illusion by touching things that they shouldn't be putting their grubby fingers on in the first place.

Outwardly, however, Mari was determined that Neil should not catch on to what she was doing.

"Look what you did, you _mochyn brwnt_," Mari jumped up and grabbed the Barbie from Neil's hand. "Made a sty out of my bed, you have. _And _you broke Debbie."

"I just … sat on it …" Neil mumbled.

Neil's stomach was churning uncomfortably again, and this time it had nothing to do with Mari's resemblance to their mother. He looked back at the bed—clean one minute, and a complete disaster the next. It felt like that time four years ago, when Uncle Howell's fiery haired ex-girlfriend had appeared in their backyard, and his feet had taken him towards her, even though he had desperately wanted to run the other way. Or Christmas two years ago, when he had gone into the kitchen to get a fizzy drink, only to find Aunt Sophie talking to the dishes—dishes that, no matter how many times Neil blinked, seemed to be merrily cleaning themselves. _Or _that time just last month, when Neil was practicing cricket in the backyard with his father, and he could've sworn that he saw a black castle, lifting up into the sky as though it was caught in a tornado.

Mari was saying something now—something insulting, no doubt—but Neil couldn't hear it through his haze of thoughts. He shook his head, certain that he was going insane, and decided that this was his cue to leave.

"Sorry about the mess," he apologized as he stood up, not knowing what else he could possibly say.

"That's all right," said Mari, sitting back down at her desk. Her face softened, although she still eyed him warily.

"What's that you're working on?" Neil asked,making a last-ditch effortat being friendly. He always felt foolish for squabbling with his sister, even if she was a royal pain in the arse. He gestured towards the book on Mari's desk, and traded his scowl for an almost charming smile.

"English homework," Mari told him. She put her hand on top of the book in a protective manner.

"Need any help, do you?" Neil took a step towards her, and she pushed the book in the opposite direction.

"_Dim diolch_," she said, looking rather uncomfortable. "You're no good at English anyway."

"Oh, come on now," Neil protested. It was a true statement—maths was his subject of choice. But he wasn't about to let a mere child inform him of his deficiencies in the humanities. "I'm better than you at any rate. You can't be reading anything difficult. What are you on now—nursery rhymes?"

With that, Neil lunged forward, and swept the textbook out of Mari's grasp. Mari leapt up in an attempt to grab it, but Neil kept it held high above her reaching hands, all the while watching with fascinated horror as the book morphed before his very eyes. The smooth, laminated cover became rough and leathery, its colorful illustrations fading to plain brown. The title no longersaid "Reading Exercises"—instead, in an archaic, gold-leafed script, it announced that the book contained "Elementerie Spellwerk." Neil cracked the book open, thumbing the pages that were now edged with gold leaf—they felt fragile and powdery, as though they might disintegrate in a breath of wind.

"What _is _this?" Neil wondered aloud.

"None of your business, that's what it is. Now give it back," Mari ordered. She climbed up onto her chair so that she was eye to eye with her brother, and made another grab for the book. Neil, however, was already striding towards the other side of the room. As he walked, his foot collided with something hard, but he barely noticed as a doll house materialized in his wake.

"This is magic, yeah?" he accused, opening the book to a picture of a mystical-looking seal and holding it up for Mari to see, as though he was presenting incriminating evidence to a jury. "Mam'll throw a fit if she finds you looking at this rubbish again. She'll send you to that child psychologist again, she will."

"No, she won't, because she's not going to find out," Mari spoke through gritted teeth. "Neil, give it back!"

Neil looked from the tome in his hands to his sister's face—which was both plaintive and stormy—and then back to the book again. He didn't fancy the idea of Mari being sent to a child psychologist any more than she did. But over the past few years, life had been a little too strange for his liking, and his sister was somehow connected to it. He was sick of the shape-shifting books and the flying castles and the self-cleaning dishes. He was sick of feeling like he was slowly going mad. He would have no more of it. Starting today, things were going to be normal.

"Sorry, Mari," said Neil as he backed out of the room. "I can't—"

But before he could finish speaking, Mari flew off of her chair and sprang towards him like a rabid kitten. He turned on his heels just as she was about to fling herself at him, and sprinted down the hallway, driven by a very genuine fear. For Neil might have been twice Mari's size, but she could use her teeth and nails to astonishing effect.

"You git! Come back here right now!" Mari screamed at him as she chased him through the house. "I'll turn you into a toad if you don't!"

Now, although Neil didn't know it, this was an empty threat. Mari couldn't turn a tadpole into a toad, let alone her brother. Transfiguration was too advanced for her. To her great chagrin, she was still learning basic magics: levitating mirrors, spontaneously creating fire, freezing water with a gesture. Glamours were the only exciting spells that she could perform, and as the fiasco in her bedroom had just proven, she hadn't even mastered those yet.

But Neil wasn't sure what to think when he heard this particular battle cry. He stopped in the middle of the sitting room and chuckled nervously, edging sideways so that the sofa was between him and his sister.

"I'd like to see you try," he challenged, trying to sound braver than he felt. He reminded himself that magic wasn't real, but after everything he'd seen, his skepticism had begun to falter, and had all but lost its ability to comfort him.

"Fine," Mari shrugged, and began to circle the sofa. Neil circled in the opposite direction, in what he hoped was a non-chalant manner, and silently cursed himself for getting cornered in the sitting room when he could have escaped out the front door.

In the meantime, Mari racked her brains for a curse. She didn't know many curses—Uncle Howell had refused to teach her any until she had more control over her magic—but she had learned a few by flipping through his books when he wasn't looking. And she didn't need a _strong_ curse. She wasn't trying to hurt Neil—she was simply trying to distract him long enough to get her spellbook back.

"Just as a baby has its dimples," Mari began to recite. "So a toad has slimy warts. So may your face bloom with pimples, though you are not a toad at heart."

When Mari finished speaking, Neil burst out laughing, both at his sister and the absurd rhyme that she had just spouted, and at himself. How silly he had been to think that Mari could turn him into a toad, or that she had anything to do with his bizarre hallucinations. She was just a little kid having fun after all.

"What … are you trying … to … do?" he managed to gasp as he bent double with laughter. "Kill me … with awful … poetry?"

He dropped the book at his feet, and gripped the back of the sofa as heshook with mirth and relief. A moment later, his hand slipped off of the sofa, and he fell to the floor because he was laughing so hard. It would be a few minutes more before he realized that he could not get back up again—that in fact, he could not move at all.

* * *

_Ci -- _dog 

_Mochyn brwnt -- _dirty pig

_Dim diolch _-- no thanks

-

-

-

-

**A/n: **Whew! So I finally finished Chapter Two ... and this time I won't remove it, I swear! Thanks for waiting so patiently, though, and I'll try to get the rest of the story out at a (relatively) speedier rate. And sorry if some of the words don't have spaces between them ... for some reason, every time I load a document on it decides to delete some of my spaces. Buthopefully it'sstill readable.

And don't worry, Howl and Sophie reappear in the next chapter. :)


	3. In which Howl longs for oblivion

_**Chapter Three: **In which Howl longs for oblivion_

**Characters this chapter: **Howl, Sophie, Mari, Morgan

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

* * *

From the moment Sophie pointed out that Mari was sulking outside of his bedroom window, Howl knew that something was wrong. It wasn't because Mari was hugging a pineapple—hey, in the world of a child, pineapples need love. But there was something about that pineapple that Just. Wasn't. Quite. Right. For instance, it was under a spell, and a spell that bore Mari's distinct magical signature at that. Of course, Howl had no intentions of telling Sophie this, though. Mari had probably just tried to ensorcell a brussel sprout into something a bit more enticing—and who could blame her? There was no need to get Sophie worked up over such an innocent experiment.

But even though Howl was considerate enough to spare Sophie the pain of needless worrying, he couldn't stop _himself_ from feeling uneasy. Even if Mari had only tried to transfigure a vegetable (and he couldn't bear to let himself consider the possibility that she had done something worse), he couldn't rid himself of the fear that Megan had seen her do it. As he and Sophie got ready to take Morgan to Wales, he kept replaying in his mind the moment when Megan had stormed across the backyard and fetched Mari back inside. Sophie scrambled about the castle, piling nappies and blankets and bottles and powders into his arms—so many that they could have taken Morgan to _Mars_ and back. But he just kept thinking of Megan and her furious gesticulations. If only he could have heard what she had been yelling.

Howl was still in this daze as they went through the portal into Wales. His mind was running like a hamster on a wheel, half of it trying to determine the likelihood that Megan had seen Mari cast a spell, and the other half of it trying to fabricate a plausible cover-up if that was actually the case. He was so preoccupied that he nearly forgot to change his clothes. Luckily, the sight of Sophie's full-length skirt lifting up and receding to a spot just above her knees brought his ruminations to a screeching halt. It was as though he had been wandering along a beach and fretting about some storm clouds gathering on the horizon, when suddenly, the tide had gone out, revealing a treasure in the sand at his feet. The gathering clouds of Hurricane Megan temporarily forgotten, Howl took a moment to admire Sophie's lithe, pale calves. He then (finally) remembered what he was supposed to be doing, and transformed his and Morgan's outfits, as well as changing Morgan's baby carriage into a modern-day stroller.

Somehow, this all led to an argument about whether or not grass is really green. Howl wasn't sure how they got from shape-shifting clothes to grass, or how it was even possible to argue about the color of grass, but he soon began to feel troubled. Not because of the argument (_that _was quite amusing), but because Megan didn't come out to stop them from "disturbing the peace," as she always put it. Megan never failed to chastise them for quarreling so openly—she claimed that, not only did it bother the neighbors, but it made her look bad when her brother made a public spectacle out of his marriage.

Today, however, Megan did nothing to interrupt their altercation, and it wasn't until her next door neighbour yelled at them to "pipe down" that Howl ushered his family inside. As soon as he stepped over the threshold of the little yellow house, he braced himself for an upbraiding from his sister. He felt that she must be lurking inside somewhere, and had probably just become so ashamed of him that she was no longer willing to associate herself with him in public.

But after they closed the door behind them, they weren't met by any of the grumbles or mutterings or insults that were so indicative of Megan's disapproval (and general existence). Howl could hear the telly blaring from the sitting room, but aside from that, the house was completely silent. Howl headed towards the sitting room—the door was open, and he expected to find Megan knitting or folding laundry on the couch, or Gareth drinking a beer, or Neil and Mari sprawled out on the floor. But the room was empty. The evening news was on—Megan always liked to have that playing in the background while she cooked supper. Howl would've thought she was just in the kitchen, but there was no sound of clinking dishes, or sizzling food, or running water—nothing.

Howl felt his chest tightening with anxiety, and quickly told himself that he was being silly. Everyone was probably just upstairs—maybe Megan was lecturing Mari about something in her bedroom—although that thought brought Howl back to the issue of whether or not Megan had witnessed Mari using magic. Every time the idea returned to his mind, it only made him feel worse. Of course, Megan had seen evidence of witchcraft and wizardry in the past—hell, she had experienced it firsthand when the Witch of the Waste had paid her a visit. And Howl had always managed to provide a rational explanation for it. But he feared that he could only slither out so many times before his sister pinned him down for good.

"Just what do you think you're looking at?" Sophie suddenly demanded, whacking him on the shoulder.

Howl realized that he had gotten lost in thought again, and that he had been staring off into space. Unfortunately for him, when he had zoned out, his unseeing gaze had settled somewhere around the telly, which was currently playing a clip from a beauty pageant. The television screen showed one young woman after another, strutting across a stage, and none of them wore anything more than a bathing suit and a sash. Howl wondered how he had gotten so caught up in his worries that he had failed to notice the near-naked ladies parading before his very eyes. Even more unfortunately for him, though, was that now that Sophie had drawn his attention to them, he took a bit too long tearing himself away—

"Did you even hear me?" Sophie asked, putting herself between him and the television set, her arms crossed in front of her chest.

"Sophie, cariad, I promise you, I wasn't even watching—"

Sophie's eyes narrowed, like those of a cat that is just about to unfurl its claws.

"I was thinking—"

"About what?" Sophie interrupted.

"About how beautiful you are!" Howl exclaimed, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her towards him. "I was so enthralled by thoughts of your loveliness, so enraptured by your pulchritudinous form—"

"Pulchritudinous? Is that even a word?" Sophie raised her eyebrows in a mixture of amusement and disbelief. She had unfolded her arms, and her hands were now resting lightly on his chest.

"Why, of course," Howl said, leaning towards his wife until the tips of their noses brushed.

"It has more syllables than you have suits," Sophie remarked, her hands sliding up towards his shoulders and around the back of his neck. As she spoke, her breath warmed his skin, and little pricks of energy went racing up his spine, like bubbles jetting towards the surface of a glass of champagne. He tightened his grip on her, convulsively.

"Only words with more than four syllables can properly express how enchanting you are," Howl murmured.

When Sophie didn't immediately say anything more, Howl seized the opportunity to kiss her. But at the last second, she turned her head so that he ended up with his face buried in a mass of her ginger curls.

"Hmph," Sophie grunted, pushing him away and marching around behind the telly. "There aren't enough syllables in the world to properly express how full of it you are."

Howl spluttered, plucking a few strands of red hair from his lips, and rebelliously dropping them on the sitting room's brown and orange (and obsessively vacuumed) carpet.

"Sophie, darling, I do believe that your hair is attacking me," he told her, breathing heavily from being close to her.

"Good for it," Sophie snapped. "Aha! There it is!"

With that exclamation of triumph, Sophie bent down, grabbed the telly's black power cord, and yanked it out of the wall socket.

"This _is_ your sister's house, Howl," Sophie reminded him, dropping the power cord at her feet. "Hardly an appropriate place to get distracted by thoughts of … _my_ loveliness."

Howl opened his mouth to defend himself further, incredulous that Sophie was still upset about his wandering eyes. This was completely unfair—he honestly hadn't been paying attention (this time)! He wished that he could just tell Sophie what he had really been thinking about, but he couldn't divulge the truth now without getting caught for his earlier lie about Mari and her pineapple. And besides, knowing _his_ Sophie, even if he did explain to her that he had been consumed by his fears about Megan (and therefore, for once in his life, had not been ogling the bathing beauties on telly) she probably still wouldn't accept that answer any more than she had accepted his attempts at flattery. Really, that woman could be impossibly jealous sometimes.

"Speaking of Megan, though, where do you think she's gotten to?" Sophie continued in a much lighter tone before Howl could say anything. He snapped his mouth shut, thankful for getting off the hook so easily. "It doesn't seem like she's home … or anyone else for that matter. And what's that smell?"

Sophie sniffed at the air, and then wrinkled her nose. For a moment, Howl wondered what she was talking about, but then he noticed it, too—a faint odour that reminded him of burning leaves, tickling his nostrils the way his colognes did when he sprayed them on too heavily. He recognized it immediately; it was the scent of a magical residue that's been left in the wake of a sloppily cast spell. Specifically, it was the kind of residue that Mari's glamours left behind. Howl was surprised that he hadn't sensed it earlier, but what surprised him more was that Sophie had been able to detect it. She and Michael had always been very much alike in their ability (or distinct lack thereof) to sense the presence of magic. Well, maybe one of them would learn after all.

Howl frowned and began pacing about the room, trying to determine where the residue was emanating from. Strangely enough, it seemed to grow stronger whenever he passed the sofa, even though he couldn't see any sign of it there. It wasn't until he walked behind the sofa that he spotted it—a shimmering, speckled pattern that looked like sugar, spilling down the back of the sofa and into a pile on the floor. Well, Megan certainly wouldn't like _that _on her carpet.

"Howl, are you going to tell me what's going on?" Sophie inquired. "Or am I going to have to beat it out of you?"

Glancing up from the glamour's sparkling remains, Howl found that Sophie had come around the other end of the sofa and was now standing in front of him. From the look on her face, he realized that she must have asked him to explain the situation quite a few times now.

"Can you see anything there, Sophie?" Howl asked, inclining his head towards the magically stained floor.

"No, nothing," Sophie said, frowning at the carpet. "Howl, is something the matter?"

"I don't know," Howl answered, which was the truth. He then flashed a smile at her. "But it's certainly nothing that requires you to resort to domestic violence."

Stepping over the residue that lay between them, he kissed her on the forehead. He then turned on his heels, and began striding towards the hallway. His insides were twitching now, like a compass needle trying to locate true north, drawing him towards what was surely the sight of another glamour casting. He paused for a moment to check on Morgan, who was parked just inside the sitting room doorway—Morgan, who had fallen asleep shortly before they had left Ingary, and who was still slumbering on, blissfully unaware of … well, of whatever the hell was going on in the Parry house. The fronds of one of Megan's ferns curved over the stroller, casting feathery shadows across the infant's peaceful face, and Howl couldn't help but smile at the sight.

But Howl couldn't ignore the tug of magic, either. He continued on, crossing the hallway and entering the kitchen, where he came to a stop so quickly that it was as if he had run into an invisible wall. Sophie was grumbling something from behind him, but the meaning of her words failed to penetrate his mind, which was currently reeling from shock. Howl did not think that he could have been more horrified had all of his hair fallen out (although, in all fairness, he probably would have been).

For one, the kitchen was in a complete state of disarray. Megan's purse was lying on the countertop, tipped over onto its side with its contents spilling out—keys, spare change, a lipstick, and a few coupons that seemed to have fluttered down to the floor. And the floor itself was crowded with brown paper bags, vegetables, canned foods, a carton of eggs, a loaf of bread … It was bad enough to see that his ever-diligent sister had abandoned her groceries in the midst of putting them away. Even worse, though, was the magical residue that blanketed everything like a dusting of snow. The food, the bags, the purse—even Megan's keys were powdered with the glimmering leftovers of a spell.

Howl reached out a hand and gripped the door frame to steady himself. Well, just because a spell had been cast right on top of Megan's groceries … that still didn't necessarily mean that Megan had witnessed it, right?

* * *

"Uncle Howell?"

"Yes, Mari."

"Do you remember how, whenever I'd cast a glamour on something, the spell would break as soon as someone touched it?"

"Of course, Mari."

"Well, I think I fixed that problem."

Howl knelt down in front of his niece, whom he and Sophie had found shortly after his discovery in the kitchen. Mari was sitting in a patch of violets in the Parry backyard with, not one, but two pineapples now, as well as the spellbook Howl had leant her a few months back. She was smiling hopefully, but her eyes had the pitiful expression of a lost kitten. Just seeing her like that, Howl felt terrible, although it wasn't entirely because of how upset she seemed to be. It was also because of what he knew she was going to tell him.

"Mari, what exactly happened today?" Sophie asked, sounding firm, yet somehow soothing—a tone that made Howl stop fretting, for just an instant, because he was struck by thoughts of what a good mother she was going to be.

Howl comforted himself with these thoughts while Mari struggled to get a single, coherent word to come out of her mouth. If she had seemed like a lost kitten before, she now reminded Howl of a cat who was trying to cough up a hairball. Howl waited patiently for her to speak, and tried to arrange his face into a look of warm understanding, even though he was feeling so antsy that if Mari had been a fortune cookie, he would have smashed her into little crumbs by now in an attempt to uncover her secret. When he felt that he couldn't stand it any longer, he decided to hug her and to pat her on the back and to tell her that it was okay (even though it most certainly was not) and that he wouldn't be mad, when all of a sudden, she flung herself at him, wrapping her arms about his neck so tightly that he feared she would choke him to death.

"Oh,_ mae'n flin 'da fi, _Uncle Howell," she sobbed, and continued on in Welsh, shaking and crying all the while. "I d-didn't mean to … b-but Neil … Mam wanted t-to … to put him in a fruit salad! Sh-she was going to chop him up into … l-little pieces! And so, I had to … I-I had to …"

"Mari, Mari, calm down, cariad," Howl gasped, stroking her head and attempting to loosen her hold on his neck. "It's all right, it's all right, it's going to be okay, I promise …"

Howl continued murmuring several different variations of "it's okay" until Mari regained some of her eight-year old composure. He then pulled away from her iron embrace so that he could look her in the eye.

"Now, what's this about your mam wanting to put Neil in a fruit salad?" Howl asked, still speaking in Welsh so that Mari would be as comfortable as possible.

Mari sniffled, and began to tell her tale, speaking so rapidly that Howl could barely keep up.

"Well, Neil found my spellbook and he said he was going to show it to Mam, and so I tried to curse him with pimples to distract him, just so that I could get the book back, but then the spell went all wrong, and I don't know how, but he turned into a pineapple, and just as Mam was getting home from grocery shopping, too! I heard her opening the door, and so I took Neil and ran out back so that I could sneak 'round to the front of the house and go to your castle, but then I remembered that your door's been closed a good while, but I couldn't think of what to do, so I decided to try it anyway, but then Mam found me in the backyard and she yelled at me because she said the neighbours would think she's a bad mam if I do strange things like running 'round with pineapples, and then she asked me where I got the pineapple from and I told her I found it and then she said she wanted to make a fruit salad with it and I tried to keep her away from it, because I knew the spell would break if she touched it, and I didn't want her finding out about magic because I promised you I'd keep it secret, but she grabbed it from me anyway, but the pineapple still didn't turn back into Neil, and she was talking about slicing him into cubes and mixing him up with pieces of melon and grapes, and I was so scared that she'd kill him, and I knew I had to stop her and so—"

At this point, Mari finally paused to breathe. Up until now, her rushed confession had made Howl feel like they were all on a runaway train that was hurtling towards the edge of a cliff. As Mari inhaled, Howl envisioned their train shooting out over the abyss and hovering in the air for a split-second. He had to stop himself from closing his eyes in preparation for the inevitable fall.

"And so I said the same spell for pimples and Mam turned into a pineapple, too, and I can't turn them back."

Boom. They hit the ground.

"I'm so sorry, Uncle Howell," Mari wailed, sobbing and choking him again with renewed vigour. "I'll never do magic again, never ever ever ever ever. Just please turn Mam and Neil back, please please please, and then you never have to speak to me again or visit me again or eat my peanut butter cookies again or play house with me again …"

Mari went on like this for some while. Howl might have interrupted her, but he was too busy trying to prevent himself from being strangled. He looked up at Sophie, hoping for some sympathy, but she only gave him a puzzled look—of course, how could he forget—Mari had told him everything in Welsh, and Sophie hadn't understood one bloody word of it. Howl sighed as he finally pulled Mari off of him again. He was not in the mood to explain this to Sophie. One of his very worst fears had just come true, and he had no desire to relive that discovery by talking about it. In fact, all he wanted to do now was to go far far away from Wales—to Thailand, perhaps—and to have a beer—or twenty—and drop off into a nice, long coma.

* * *

_mae'n flin 'da fi _-- I'm sorry

-

-

-

-

**A/n**:Just wanted to say, thanks to all of my reviewers so far, and again, thanksfor being so patient with me and my infrequent updates!

And if you're still confused by my references to Sabrina the Teenage Witch in my notes in the first two chapters, I'll explain that now. Basically, in what I think is one of the first Sabrina the Teenage Witch episodes, Sabrina accidentally turns Libby into a pineapple, and her powers are nearly discovered because of it. And that's where this story came from. ;-p

In any case, stay tuned! Chapter 4 will come out, even if it takes me another month ...


	4. In which Megan makes her demands

_**Chapter Four: **In which Megan makes her demands_

**Characters this chapter: **Sophie, Howl, Mari, Megan, Neil

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

* * *

As Sophie watched Howl pull away from Mari and wander back into the Parry house, she could only imagine what was going through his mind—really, she could only imagine what was going on at all. Between the chaotic, abandoned state of the house, and Mari's state of panic, she knew that something must have gone horribly awry. But between Howl's insufferable tendency to keep her in the dark, and their niece's not-so-insufferable tendency to speak in Welsh, Sophie also knew that it would be a miracle if she ever found out _what _had gone horribly awry. 

"Mari, why don't you …" Sophie glanced between the house and her niece. She had been about to ask Mari to wait in the backyard while she went to talk with Howl, but then she realized that, strategically, it would be much better to bring Mari with her.

Even before she and Howl had married, Sophie had figured out that children were one of Howl's better weaknesses. All the beer and beautiful women in the world might not be enough to cajole the great Wizard Pendragon into doing something he was terribly opposed to. But when there were children involved—and especially when they were his relations—much to his chagrin, his more virtuous side was often forced to come out.

"Mari, why don't you come inside with me?" Sophie smiled at the little girl and held out a hand. With a sniffle, Mari took it, pulled herself up, and offered a weak smile in return.

"I'm sure that whatever is wrong, your Uncle Howl will be able to fix it," Sophie assured Mari, rubbing her back in a comforting manner as the two of them walked back towards the house.

"I hope so," Mari mumbled, and wiped her nose on the back of her hand. She then stopped in her tracks, a look of panic flashing across her face. "Wait, Aunt Sophie—we can't leave Mam and Neil!"

Mari dashed back to the patch of violets where she had been sitting, and scooped up the two spiky fruits she'd been holding earlier—what had Howl said they were? Pie naps? Pie caps? Pie apples? Pie napples! That was it. Mari scooped up the two pie napples, hugging one in each arm, and came back to Sophie's side. For a moment, Sophie just stared at the girl and the two fruits—had she just referred to them as her mother and brother? Had they …?

Sophie just shook her head, and opened the back door. She herself had been turned into an old woman _and _a cat, not to mention … other things best left _unmentioned_. Howl had been turned into a genie. And that was still nothing in comparison to what the Witch of the Waste had done to Ben. If Megan and Neil had been turned into tropical fruit—well, it certainly wasn't the most surprising thing that could have happened.

Once inside the house, it wasn't difficult to find Howl. Sophie simply followed the sound of clinking, muttering, and cursing to the kitchen, where Howl was currently making quite a small racket.

"Ah ha!" he exclaimed just as Sophie entered the room. "Thought you could escape me, did you?"

Sophie frowned down at her husband, who was currently kneeling in front of the cold, white cupboard where Megan and Gareth stored their food. He was rummaging about on one of the shelves, shoving containers this way and that way and reaching for something that she couldn't see. She half expected it to be a third pie napple—Gareth, perhaps? But when he finally stood up, she saw that it was only a bottle of beer.

"Howl, I hardly think this is the time to be drinking," Sophie admonished him.

"On the contrary, dear—this is hardly the time to be sober," Howl replied. He waved a hand over the glass bottle and its cap vanished into thin air. "I need my brain to be well-lubricated."

"With all the concoctions that you put in your hair and that must seep through your skull, I imagine that your brain has enough lubrication as it is," Sophie retorted.

By way of response, Howl simply took a swig of his beer.

"Don't listen to him, Mari," Sophie advised their niece. "The only thing drinking will get you is a bed in the gutter."

"You don't say," Howl remarked, his eyes wide with feigned innocence. "You've never made me sleep in the gutter before, darling."

"Don't push your luck," Sophie warned. "Now, are you going to change Megan and Neil back into human beings, or am _I _going to have to try it?"

Howl had been in the midst of draining his beer, but at Sophie's words, he jerked the bottle away from his mouth, and proceeded to do something that was a cross between choking and spitting, with the result that half the kitchen got sprayed with amber liquid.

"What-what gave you the idea that Megan and Neil need to be changed back into human beings?" he asked, wiping his mouth and laughing a little too hard. "Really, of all the ridiculous things to say. They're already human beings, Sophie. Why on earth would they need to be 'changed back?'"

"Because I turned them into pineapples, remember Uncle Howell?" Mari chirped, holding up the two spiky fruits as if his memory needed to be jogged by a visual aid.

"I'm not an idiot, Howl," Sophie added, glaring at her husband.

"Oh, I'm well aware of that," Howl sighed. He polished off the rest of his beer, then tossed the bottle into the air and stepped back to let it fall.

"Howl!" Sophie shouted, instinctively moving in front of Mari to shield her from any shards that might come flying their way after the bottle shattered. But when it hit the floor, it burst, not into dangerous glass splinters, but into a throng of soap bubbles.

"Show off," Sophie muttered as the iridescent bubbles came skidding her way. Beside her, Mari uttered something like "wow," her predicament temporarily forgotten.

"You wouldn't have me any other way," Howl winked at his wife, causing her to harrumph and roll her eyes at him. "Now, about this unpleasant business of … ahem … well, you already said it, Sophie, no need for me to repeat it. Mari, are you sure you wouldn't prefer your mother and brother as fruits? They'd certainly be tastier that way."

"Howl, that's awful to joke like that," Sophie chided him. "Now, would you quit stalling and just turn them back already? I know you could do it by snapping your fingers. What are you waiting for?"

"Do I really have to spell it out for you?" Howl asked, heaving a great sigh that seemed to suggest that the weight of the multiverse was currently resting on his shoulders.

No, he didn't have to spell it out for Sophie. She was well aware of all the trouble he went to in order to convince Megan that he led what, by Welsh standards, would be considered a relatively normal life. For his sister, he had woven an entire tapestry of lies, explaining everything from what his job was (Megan thought he worked as a florist, which was, admittedly, a half-truth), to why he was never around (he had told her that Sophie's family was from a place in his world called Australia—which was apparently about as far away from Wales as you could get without going to another universe—and that he and Sophie had moved there so that she could be close to them).

He claimed that he didn't tell Megan the truth about his life because it would worry her. "She'd probably have an aneurysm if she knew that her brother was wrapped up in something as 'abnormal' as wizardry and parallel dimensions," he'd once told Sophie. But even though he never voiced this particular fear, Sophie knew that _he _was the one who was worried—worried about how his sister would react if she discovered his secret.

"Megan's your family," Sophie said, in a gentle tone that Howl usually never heard. She walked over to him and took his hands in hers. "I know that you think she won't understand—"

"She won't," Howl asserted.

"_At first_, maybe," Sophie stressed. "But she will, eventually."

"Did a divination spell tell you this?" Howl queried.

"No—"

"Then don't be so sure," Howl told his wife.

"Howl, I can say from experience that siblings have a bond that can't be easily broken—"

"Oh, no one said it was going to be easy," Howl cut in.

"You can't keep her shut out of your life forever," Sophie finally said, getting to the point.

"Actually, I can," Howl corrected. "All I have to do is turn back time, make it so this little mishap never occurred. I'd need a few supplies, and maybe some help from Calcifer—"

"Howl—"

"We'd have to become fugitives, of course—running from universe to universe to evade the magical authorities, surrounding ourselves with cloaking spells at all times—"

"Howl, will you—"

"And it would probably be best for Morgan if we left him with Lettie and Ben. Or maybe Martha—give her a head start on those ten kids of hers—"

"Howl!" Sophie released her husband's hands and gave him a shove with both of hers. "That isn't an option."

"No, I suppose it isn't," Howl sighed again. "But a man can dream. It would be romantic, wouldn't it? An adventure."

Sophie simply crossed her arms, no longer in the mood to humor him. Howl didn't say anything more either, his green eyes clouded with something that Sophie had seen not too long ago, just before he had transformed her into a cat and the djinn had descended on the castle.

Walking over to Mari, Howl took the pie napples away from her, and set them on the floor.

"Stand back," he told Sophie and Mari, who both moved towards the hallway. He then recited a short, incomprehensible verse, and quickly traced a sigil in the air with his right hand.

Immediately, the two pie napples began to rotate, slowly at first, and then faster and faster until they were both whirling blurs of green and yellow and brown. As they spun, they also began to fragment, leaves and pieces of husk shooting away from them like branches being torn from a tree in a tempest. The pie napple shrapnel fanned out across the kitchen, unfurling like a peacock's tail, before dwindling to dust and snapping out of existence. At the same time, a tinkling sound filled Sophie's ears; it made her think of wind chimes, swaying to and fro on someone's porch. When the sound faded, she found that Megan and Neil were standing in front of her, both of them restored to their natural forms.

"Mam!" Mari shouted and ran to her mother, throwing her arms around the woman's legs before bursting into tears again, and launching into a stream of Welsh.

Megan responded in Welsh, frowning at her daughter, and reflexively placing a hand on top of her dark head—a sweet, maternal gesture that was in complete contrast with the steely look on her face. Her eyes scanned the kitchen, darting past Sophie and a bewildered Neil, before finally settling on Howl.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, switching to English now that she had realized that Sophie was present. Sophie used to think that Megan spoke English in front of her out of politeness. Eventually, however, Howl had explained to Sophie that Megan believed that speaking Welsh in front of foreigners would make her look uneducated. It was something that Sophie had never understood—in Ingary, knowing more than one language was a sign that you were intelligent and cosmopolitan. But this wasn't the time to dwell on that particular cultural difference ...

"What is going on?" Megan was asking. "What just happened? What did you do, Howell?"

"Mam—" both Mari and Neil tried to say something at once, but Megan cut them off.

"You owe me an explanation, Howell," Megan continued, stepping free of Mari's grasping arms, advancing on her brother like a wolf approaching its cornered prey. "One minute, I'm standing in the kitchen, putting away my groceries, and the next I'm trapped in a dark, wet space and I can't move and I can't feel anything—"

"Megan, that's—" Howl tried to get a word in, but apparently Megan was more interested in ranting than in getting her explanation, for she steam-rolled right over him.

"And don't you tell me that I'm imagining things," Megan bellowed. She was inches from him now, jabbing at his chest with her index finger. Howl backed up until he was pressed against the wall behind him, but Megan closed in on him again, refusing to give him space. "You're always telling me I'm imagining things, as if everything that ever went wrong in the world was all in my head. Well, I'm not crazy, Howell, and I'm not blind, either. You've been telling me that I'm imagining things ever since you filled my underwear drawer with snakes when you were a kid, but I'm not swallowing your lies anymore. Tell me what you did to me, or get out."

"Mam, it wasn't Uncle Howell—" Neil started up.

"—it was my fault," Mari finished.

For a moment, Sophie felt touched that Mari and Neil would defend their uncle, but Megan wasn't buying it.

"Oh, this is rich," Megan snapped. "Now you have my children covering for you? Really, Howell, is it possible for you to stoop any lower?"

Howl opened and closed his mouth a few times, like a fish out of water, while Mari and Neil clamoured for their mother's attention.

"No, Mam, it's the truth!" Mari insisted.

"He wasn't even here," Neil pointed out.

Sophie thought of saying something, but considering how her sister-in-law felt towards her, she decided it would be best if she kept her mouth shut. She didn't want to make things any worse for Howl.

"Megan, if I told you the truth, you would still think I was lying," Howl finally said, his voice as grave as Sophie had ever heard it.

"Try me," Megan ordered, folding her arms across her chest.

Howl chuckled uneasily, and rubbed at his forehead with one hand.

"Oh, heavens," he groaned. "Where do I begin?"


End file.
